


learning curve

by clockworkrobots



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Post-Season/Series 10, Self-Worth Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-28
Updated: 2015-07-28
Packaged: 2018-04-11 18:40:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4447391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clockworkrobots/pseuds/clockworkrobots
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It starts with something stupid, as these things usually do. Well, it might be somewhat of a sacrilege to call Super Smash Bros. stupid, though perhaps the look of stupefaction on Dean's face when he looses a tournament for the fifth time in a row to his smirking angelic boyfriend might make it appropriate after all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	learning curve

**Author's Note:**

> This began when a few of my friends and I squealed over the idea of how turned on Dean would be when Cas beat him and dumb things like video games and arm wrestling. Turned on, but kinda annoyed too.

It starts with something stupid, as these things usually do. Well, it might be somewhat of a sacrilege to call Super Smash Bros. stupid, though perhaps the look of stupefaction on Dean's face when he looses a tournament for the fifth time in a row to his smirking angelic boyfriend might make it appropriate after all.

Afterwards, however, when Dean is still quietly simmering, Castiel does start to feel slightly guilty. Dean is sick after all, benched from a hunt by Sam because he couldn't look up from the floor without pressing a palm into his eye and squinting with the other. Migraines are never fun for anyone. The ill timed headache has started to wain a bit, but Dean hasn't had a good night's sleep in at least four days (maybe make that at least four years), and is expectedly exhausted and cranky. Castiel thought offering to let him beat him in a video game he and Charlie like to play together might have assuaged his restless frustrations, but apparently Castiel is very bad at losing on purpose. He is also apparently scary good at Rainbow Road.

He is, however, not the quickest at realising that Dean's sour mood after the game has simmered and boiled into a whole different monster by the time Castiel finds him in his bedroom again (their bedroom now, he corrects himself with satisfaction) to give him some more Ibuprofen and some water. The thing about headache ridden, over tired people, is that lingering in a low state for so long can easily drag you even lower.

“It's been at least four hours since your last dose,” Cas says, handing Dean the bottle of pills that had been left in the kitchen when Dean took one with lunch.

Dean takes the proffered pills with a grunt of thanks and twists the cap open to palm one out . Castiel holds out the glass of water to Dean, but Dean ignores it in favour of a resentful dry swallow.

“Are you feeling any better?” Cas asks as he takes a seat next to Dean on the bed, one leg tucked under the other as it dangles off the edge.

“Migraine's starting to fuck off finally, yeah,” Dean says, dragging a tired hand down his face. “Still feel like crap, though.”

Cas nods in sympathy. “You're exhausted.”

“Exhausted, annoyed, worried Sam's gotten himself eaten on his hunt somewhere, take your pick,” Dean huffs, as he swings both his legs up onto the bedspread and leans back against the headboard.

“I think we can probably rule out Sam getting eaten,” Cas half jokes, half attempts to console what he knows is still a genuine worry deep down that something could happen to Sam without Dean there.

“Who knows, stranger things have happened. I ate your dust all day thanks to your undisclosed Nintendo expertise,” Dean grumbles.

Cas chuckles softly. “Trust me, it was unknown to me too.”

But it does little to assuage Dean. “Yeah, well, you're just fucking great at everything, aren't you,” he snaps, and then flushes slightly, as if embarrassed at the outburst.

Castiel frowns, concerned. “That's not true,” he says, putting a gentle hand on Dean’s knee where his legs are sprawled out next to him.

“Yeah?” Dean snorts. “Name one thing you don't kick my ass at.”

Castiel sighs, but considers it seriously. He knows full and well he is not perfect, nor any better in person than Dean (if anything, Castiel would acerbically consider himself a good deal worse), but he’s also not blind to the way Dean has had him on a pedestal in the past. Indeed, they’ve both done this to each other, and Castiel knows it’s not exactly an easy habit to shake.

“Well, I'm terrible at baking cookies,” he offers, after a moment, trying to keep the tone light, ease Dean into acceptance.

“That's 'cause you always forget to take 'em out of the oven on time,” Dean accuses, but he does so with a smile, clearly remembering the incident from last week where Cas nearly set fir to the kitchen because he had been so thoroughly enjoying blowing Dean in the library he’d forgotten he’d ever put anything in the oven.

“As I understand, the 'baking' part of baking cookies is rather important,” Cas argues back.

“Hmm,” Dean hums, not quite satisfied with that answer, but conceding regardless.

Cas shuffles up the bed to join Dean against the head board, making him shift over a bit to accommodating him sliding in beside Dean. After a moment of companionable silence as they both enjoy the simple pleasure of sharing heat through their pressed together thighs and shoulders, Cas says, “I'm not as good at witness interrogation as you.”

Dean’s mouth twists into a wry smile. “That's just 'cause you're a little... intense sometimes.”

“But you always know that right thing to say,” Cas points out admiringly.

It’s Dean’s turn again to sigh. “Years of practice, Cas,” he says, brushing the compliment off.

“Well, as I have been around for billions of years, I have to stay I'm still impressed.”

“Guess I got one thing then, huh,” Dean rolls his eyes, and then adds a sarcastic, “Nice.”

Sometimes, Castiel has learned, people don’t want to be “cheered up” by platitudes. From first hand experience, Castiel has come to know how sadness can feel both suffocatingly inescapable and yet oddly comforting in its familiarity after awhile. In these moments, genuine friendly overtures can feel like further validation of one’s worthlessness, for such a feeling of self-directed rancor can’t conceive that one deserves sincere sympathy. Castiel has been there, has felt this, and suffered for it. Made others suffered too, when he made choices for them. He still feels a bitter twist in his gut when he remembers purgatory, remembers his Fall, remembers that incipient ache of feeling lonely. He despairs that Dean should still feel this, too, after all they have rebuilt together.

“I'm not very good at owning up to my mistakes either,” he says, solemn and sober. “That's definitely one thing I wish I was better at,” he swallows thickly, and frowns at himself. “I'm trying to be better.”

“No one's good at that Cas,” Dean says softly, nudging him by the shoulder. “Part of being human, I think,” he commiserates.

But Castiel would have to partially disagree. “You're pretty good” he says. “At least, better than me,” he then adds at Dean's dismissive snort. “In fact, you even feel the weight of mistakes that weren't your own. Sam's. Your father's.”

Dean’s face falls as his gaze falls to his lap. “That's part of being human, too.”

Cas takes Dean’s hand, which makes his head lift back up with a faint look of wonder. Castiel laces their fingers together tight. 

“Then I can't say that anyone's as good at being human as you.”

Dean studies the way they hands link together, eyes tracing the slender length of Cas’ fingers. He has known these hands so long, and yet, as the years of unrequited longing stretch out behind them, not long enough. 

“I think you're idealising me a little there, Cas,” he says.

“Weren't you the one who started this by saying I was good at everything?”

At that, Dean chuckles. “Touché.”

“We both have our faults, Dean,” Cas says as he gives Dean’s hand a reassuring squeeze. “Some that can't be helped. Some that... probably should,” Cas pauses to smile at his wry joke. “But what's important is that for all out weaknesses, we are stronger together.”

He holds Dean’s gaze to make sure he understands, understands how fully Castiel holds Dean with him and within him. They’ve spent too many years and lives missing their chances. Now that they have finally taken the leap, Castiel should not like to see the ground again for a long, long time.

Dean strokes his thumb across Cas’ knuckle. “You're definitely better at the sappy speeches than me,” he teases, though Castiel can hear a roughness to his voice that speaks of grateful heaviness.

Castiel leans in closer to whisper conspiratorially in Dean’s ear. “That is a mantle I'll happily bear as long as you enjoy them.”

“Yeah?” Dean laughs, joy returning to his face. His eyes flick down to Cas’ mouth, where it hovers tantalisingly close to Dean’s own. “I enjoy them more if they finish with you kissing me,” he flirts shamelessly.

“I think I can oblige that too,” Cas says, before closing the distance.

The kiss is gentle, but promising. Dean lets go of Cas’ hand so that Cas can raise it to his cheek. Castiel doubts he will ever recover from the novelty of this, of small but special affections, freely displayed. 

“You do always have better ideas for a happy ending,” he drawls with a rough whisper, which makes Dean laugh again, a glorious sound.

“Well, shit, you're getting better at that innuendo every day!” he commends, grinning. Castiel now knows that the taste of that smile is just as delicious as the sight.

“I've had a good teacher,” he says, thumb idly brushing over the corner of Dean’s flush mouth.

“Oh yeah? He the best you ever had?”

“Most certainly,” Castiel answers very seriously.

“Mmm, well that's good,” Dean mumbles, stealing another kiss, upon which he imparts his most delightful secret: “'Cause you're it for me too.”


End file.
